


Blur

by Jenwryn



Category: Death Note
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Genderswitch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-24
Updated: 2009-07-24
Packaged: 2017-10-02 12:48:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenwryn/pseuds/Jenwryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Near calls Mello back to the SPK's HQ, but she doesn't want to talk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blur

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tierfal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tierfal/gifts).



> The idea of this story has been bugging me for quite some time now, ever since Tierfal said something to me, which set my brain on this path, erm. Apparently the excuse to write PWP for [dn_contest](http://community.livejournal.com/dn_contest/)'s prompt "pornography" was exactly what I needed to finally get it finished.

It's Rester accompanying her in the lift this time, his eyes fixed upon some vague point beyond her head. Mello wonders if it's because he doesn't want to be misconstrued as staring at her breasts, or whether her gun-waving yesterday has simply left him so disapproving that he doesn't trust himself to meet her eyes for fear he'll show his real opinion. It's not like she could care less, either way; Rester isn't someone she's overly interested in. And, frankly, she's too busy being annoyed herself. Annoyed, that she's here for no other reason than that the small bitch had asked her back. Here, as if there were some kind of truce between them. It makes her want to pull out her gun again, and this time actually shoot something. It doesn't even have to be anything animate. It just has to break well.

Near has her back to Mello, yet again, when Mello walks through the door. It's a different room this time, though – long windows covered in white blinds, letting the afternoon light leak through and spill across a domino city. Mello catalogues it all in one sweeping glance, lingering only momentarily on those stiff little shoulders, so obviously set like that just to annoy her, just like yesterday. Mello hates the sight of them, hates being shunned, ignored. Before she can spit out the scathing words that fill her mouth, though, Near rises to her slender feet, turns, and makes a tiny motion with her fingers that sends Rester back out of the room, after only a heartbeat's hesitation. The door hisses closed behind him. Mello wonders what Near did to earn the lapdog loyalty her agents seem to bathe her in, but that train of thought is distracted when Near lifts her head. Her eyes are wide and grey and solemn as church hymns, when she meets Mello's gaze.

Those eyes haven't changed at all.

Mello stares, breath hitching. It's not that she doesn't calculate, just that her mind spins from A to B so swiftly that there appears to be no pause, and then she's standing directly in front of the younger girl-woman, just two hands space between them, and her own hands are gripped against those cotton-covered shoulders. "Still hate you," Mello hisses, but her thumbs are calling her a liar as they stroke in a rush against collarbones and up along pale skin. Her fingers mock her as they catch and snare in the tangle of curls that frame Near's face. And Near? Near is unsteady on her tip-toes, her mouth pressed to Mello's mouth and gasping softly. Mello shoves at the girl, even as she pulls her closer, furious now, furious at herself, and loathing that Near still has this effect. Mello knows that she should just turn around and walk out right now, turn around and walk out and never return again, because there's no point to this, no point to _them_, no point to the buzz of wild, white noise that Near summons up in Mello's ribcage. But she doesn't, and she can't, not with Near's cool hands growing warm against her bare midriff, not with Near's cool hands sliding up beneath the leather that covers her back; not with Near swaying on her toes and reaching for Mello's mouth again.

"You," Near says. "You _know_..."

Mello does know, and that's part of what's so infuriating. She tilts her head away from Near's kiss, leans down and nips at the soft skin of Near's neck instead, enjoying the pained twist to the girl's gasp, and thrilling at the way Near's fingers clench tighter against her.

Well, now that she's here anyway...

There's a bed in the middle of the room. It's cold and white and ironically virginal, and Mello wonders, with wry amusement, which of Near's babysitter-agents picked it out for her, and whether they honestly buy into the innocent bullshit Near seems so intent on selling the world. Mello sure doesn't buy it, not when Near is tugging her impatiently, so impatiently, back towards the pillows. Not that she's complaining, even though she does roll her eyes mockingly as she settles against the white coverlet. Her skin itches pleasantly when Near climbs on top of her, as if she owns her. Her hands catch at Near's ankles as Near sits upon her hips, rolling Near's socks down so she can stroke at Near's pink toes; Near shivers even as she's busy with the zipper on Mello's leather vest. Near attacks Mello's clothes as if she were a child making short shrift of wrapping paper, and leans in to demand another kiss. Mello obliges this time, tongue stroking at Near's tongue, and helps shrug herself free of her vest and the bra beneath it.

"You a bit frustrated, Nearie, all locked up in your ivory tower with your halo to keep shiny?" Mello teases, as if she weren't coming up in goosebumps herself. Near's lips leave Mello's and brush downwards, delineating her breasts with dampness, and that swift pink tongue draws wet circles around pale-brown aureole. Mello's urge to mock is fading rapidly, in direct correlation with the quantity of skin Near touches; the quantity of skin that Near mouths and sucks and trails kisses on. It's always been like this, Mello's anger tipping sideways and distracting itself with sheer sensation. There's a heat in her, beneath the loathing, and she knows it; she wants this just as much as Near does, maybe even more than Near does. That's why she breathes it in, hitching unwanted moans between her teeth as Near explores the differences that time has wrought upon Mello's body since they'd last seen each other naked – the extra curves, the burn scars, the marks from knives and victories won. Mello thanks God above that Near doesn't request a commentary, just details each blemish with her tongue. Near's own breathing is growing heavy, as if simply touching Mello is enough to get herself off, and the concept is such a turn on in itself that Mello thinks it might even be plausible; she knows she's already wet herself, and Near hasn't even reached where she wants to be touched the most – where Near herself wants to be touched the most, if the way she's rubbing, ever so slightly, against Mello, is anything to go by.

When Near undoes the laces on Mello's trousers and begins to work them down Mello's hips, Mello simply assists. And if she ends up with her underwear vanishing at the same time, she doesn't really care, because then Near has one hand curved at Mello's right hip bone, and a curious finger between Mello's legs. The younger girl has an intrigued look up on her face and is probably, Mello suspects darkly, about to launch into some arse-backwards discussion about Mello's elected hairlessness or, God forbid, the differences in her labia as a fully grown adult compared to when she'd been younger, or something else equally Near-worthy, and so Mello just smirks and sways her hips against Near's finger to distract her. A small smile twitches onto Near's face and she places her whole palm flat against Mello, and observes, in a wicked little voice, "You a bit frustrated, Mello, all locked up with your mafia and your cold-bitch reputation to keep in order?"

Mello squeezes her thighs around Near's hand and hisses, "Do you want to argue or do you want to fuck me? Because, you know, I'm good for eit––"

Near lets out a low, pleased hum. She strokes her hand up onto Mello's thigh and leans in, breath hot against Mello, and licks at her, a long lick, tongue stroking through her folds, first down one side, then down the other, coming to rest flickingly against her clit. Mello's stomach trembles and she grips at Near's head to steady herself; Near stops what she's doing and glares up at her, until Mello growls and loosens her grip on Near's hair, swearing at herself for not just yanking harder, but knowing exactly why she doesn't, the moment Near breathes against her again. The white-haired girl's hands are tight on Mello's hips, just enough pressure to remind Mello not to push upwards too hard, and then it's nothing but soft curls trailing against Mello's abdomen, and Near's lips, and Near's tongue, and Near's mouth hot and wet, lapping and teasing, and inside and outside and inside and _oh God please yes__\--_

Near is perched on top of Mello again, when Mello breathes out steadyingly and opens her eyes. Small hands are caressing her breasts, and Near is rubbing herself back and forth against Mello's belly now, a vague hint of dampness cool against Mello's skin even through the cotton of the girl's pyjama bottoms. Mello is in a better mood now that she's come, but she'll still be damned if the little bitch thinks she's going to let her get herself off just like that.

"Want me to do you?" Mello purrs, raising two of her fingers in a mocking salute. Mello likes mouths, but Near likes hands. It's a long established fact. Not just hands, either, and Mello would place good money on a bet that at least one of the myriad of white cushions spread across Near's bed has a zipper down the side, and toys of a much more grown-up kind concealed inside, but now's not the time for that – Near can fuck herself with inanimate objects whenever she wants, but Mello, on the other hand, figures herself to be a more limited commodity. And better at it.

Near just gives her a look, though, and sucks on one of Mello's nipples. Mello moans, then grabs Near by the waist and rolls the both of them over. It never ends well for Mello's pride if she lets Near have the upper hand for too long, so now it's her turn. And if Near had been rough, well, Mello is even rougher, all thumbs and nails against pinkwhite skin. Then Near is naked beneath her, such an expanse of beautiful paleness, interrupted only by the slight jut of pelvis and ribs, and white, white, alabaster-white little breasts, perfect for being held in Mello's hands. Near is an artwork of warmth and skin and whiteness, and the sight of her makes Mello ache, but she doesn't tell Near that. Instead, she bites down on Near's shoulder again, harder this time, sucking and nipping until Near mewls beneath her, and she knows – they both know – that Near has been marked.

How long playing grown-ups' games, and Mello still needs to make her point? She knows it's petty, but she can't help it.

Near's eyes declare that she knows it's petty too, so Mello grabs Near's shirt from where she'd tossed it to one side, folds it, rolls it, and ties it around Near's head; a makeshift blindfold. Near frowns, but allows it, and her tongue on her lips, as she follows the movements of Mello's hands, make Mello pulse with want. The blur in her ribcage is swirling wildly now.

"_You_ called _me_," she reminds, insinuates, blowing breath against Near's earlobe and then kissing her way down Near's skin. Near tries to lay impassively beneath Mello's touch now, as though she wants to prove a point of her own, too, but she shivers anyway, when Mello tongue-touches at her breasts. A whole-body tremor runs through her, though, when Mello ghosts her fingertips across that one spot on Near's lower belly, which for some reason is so damn sensitive; Near lets a moan escape when Mello places butterfly kisses there.

"Say you want me," Mello drawls, when Near's body pushes up against her, Near's slender legs spreading.

"I need you," Near says, and she's too good at this game, damn her, because it doesn't even matter if it's a lie or a fabrication, because those are the magic words, those are the words that they both know every ounce of Mello is longing to hear. Mello bites down hard on her own tongue to stop herself from saying things she knows she'd regret later. She drags her fingers down Near's body, and Near has her mouth open beneath the blindfold, catching breath, her own hands pressed against her thighs as though it's taking all of her self-control not to just touch herself already. Mello knows that if there were one thing she could tell the world, it would probably be this, this, that their precious little angel genius likes to be fucked just as much as Mello herself does. Except that this side of Near is hers alone, she only lets Mello do this to her, and that makes it a secret worth keeping.

The blonde grins as she pulls Near up and into her lap, so that Near's back is pressed against Mello's breasts. Mello sucks at her fingers, then changes her mind, and slides them into Near's mouth instead. Near sucks them in deep and lets Mello stroke at her tongue. Mello rests her chin against Near's bitten shoulder, watching her own fingertips trail between Near's breasts, over Near's soft little belly, and down between her legs. She tugs at Near's hair teasingly with her other hand, while her wet fingers reach even more expectant wetness; she circles, slicks, then slides two fingers in deep.

Near moans and wriggles as Mello finds the angle she wants, and then Near lets out a deep breathy noise as Mello strikes up a rhythm, her arms wrapped around Near's body, and the both of her hands working at her, the one pushing in and out, in and out, the other dappling circles on Near's soft clit. Near's hands grip tighter and tighter on Mello's knees, and Near's breath gets shorter and shorter. Near's thighs start to tremble, and so do Mello's arms, and Near is jerking her hips forwards against every push of Mello's fingers, luring them in deeper, as deep as they'll go, crooked and arched within her. Mello's hands are wet against Near, and Near is breathing and gasping and gasping and breathing. Near comes loudly, all guttural moans and stretched-out toes, but Mello doesn't pause, doesn't falter, just keeps on burying her fingers in and out and in and out, keeps on pressing her fingertips harder and harder against Near's softness. Near cries out in muffled protest, then cries out again in a very different tone, her head thrown back even further, her spine curving away from Mello in a way it never would if her body weren't shaking with pleasure. Near comes, and she gasps jaggedly, and she comes, and her face is wet and hot as she moans Mello's name stutteringly, achingly, and Mello lets out a gasp of her own and allows the girl slump against her, all slick and wet. She slides her fingers free with a delicious damp sound, studies them in the white-light cast through the blinds, and licks them slowly, because this is Near, and Near is hers when the buzzing in her ribcage is as loud as now. Near's blindfold has fallen crooked and loose, and Mello pulls it away completely with a vague motion. Near opens her eyes slowly, her small breasts still heaving on her unsteady chest, and just looks at her. Mello keeps on licking, tongue working between her fingers until they're clean. Near frown-smile-sighs and then conjures up one of her rare, real laughs. "I can't move," she gasps.

Mello flops backwards onto the bed, taking Near down with her. Near turns and settles against her, nuzzling at Mello's breasts, and shifting her hips downwards so that she lays between Mello's legs, against Mello's own wet heat. "When I can move..." she mumbles vaguely, one brief rubbing motion making a promise, and then she falls promptly asleep with a flicker of pale lashes.

Mello can let herself smile, once Near has closed her eyes and vanished into her dreams. Mello can smile, and tug the bedspread haphazardly over the both of them, cushions falling dully to the floor as she yanks blankets backwards from how they were intended. She can smile, as she spreads her legs to give Near more room, and puts her arms around her. She can smile, because it's just a momentary truce. Because Near is in her debt right now, surely. And that's all it is, nothing more, and she's allowed to bloody well smile if she wants, when Near's sleep-wandering hand slides up to tangle itself amongst blonde hair.

Just for the moment. Just until the blur wears off.


End file.
